


The Only Exception

by sullacat



Series: Taking Chances [5]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-20
Updated: 2011-06-20
Packaged: 2017-10-20 14:18:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sullacat/pseuds/sullacat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Jim Kirk had a type, it probably wasn't Leonard McCoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Only Exception

**Author's Note:**

> for my Schmoop Bingo card- massage: foot rub. These characters are not mine, no infringement intended.

"Jim, that tickles."

"Stop moving around and it won't."

But Bones continued to fidget, so Jim released the foot from his grip. "Honest, I'm not trying to tickle you. I promise, just... relax. It'll be good in a minute." A snort came from the other direction, and Jim chuckled. "Perhaps you've never heard of these hands," Jim told him, holding them up for a moment before going back to Bones' feet. "World famous. Guaranteed to work miracles. Better than what you're drinking over there."

Bones hesitated at those words, the glass in his hand paused en route toward his mouth, then continued as he took a small sip of the amber liquid. "Miracles?" A little scoff. "Musta missed that memo."

Jim grinned at that. It was nice seeing him smile tonight. "So talk to me."

Bones sighed, putting the glass down on the table next to him and shrugged. "Just one of those days." But _something_ had happened, bothered him enough to send Jim a message, wondering if they could have dinner together.

It wasn't an uncommon request, really; they averaged one meal a day together, even if it was a quick lunch to touch base, or grabbing breakfast after spending the night at one or the others' room. Still, something about _the way_ Bones asked made Jim think that this was more than just wanting some company.

Which is why Jim arranged for dinner to arrive at Bones' room at 2000, giving them both adequate time to finish all they needed to do, change into some off-duty clothes and just talk for a bit without being rushed or interrupted. Why Bones was now nestled on one side of his couch, his feet propped up on Jim's lap, unwinding from a long day. Whatever the problem was, Jim wanted to fix it if he could. Make things better for his doctor.

 _What a sap I've turned out to be_ , Jim laughed to himself, massaging the top of Bones' foot, fingers circling around the ankle, darting up the low part of the calf. Was a bit shocking, Jim Kirk acting so domestic, surprising himself more than anyone, and he might have felt disappointed by his fall from glory if it wasn't so damned good between the two of them. More than good. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not really..." Sometimes Bones didn't talk, and Jim knew that was okay. Didn't always need to, though they were getting better about communicating as they grew closer to each other. Maybe because of that understanding Jim knew that pushing wasn't the right thing to do. If Bones wanted to share, he would. If not, then - Bones would leave his quarters tomorrow morning after a good evening meal and a restful night's sleep, having been thoroughly worn out by his captain.

"How's this?" Jim asked, rubbing at the skin between the toes, watching the doctor's face closely. Hadn't changed so much in the years since they'd met on that shuttle, but it was infinitely more familiar. Jim now knew what Bones looked like when he fell asleep, eyes open one minute, then blinking closed the next. He'd seen Bones wake up suddenly, his comm device notifying him of some emergency, and he'd seen Bones wake up slow, consciousness slowly bubbling up to the surface as they spooned against each other.

He'd seen Bones shut down after losing a patient. He'd watched him mend broken bones and fix broken souls with a few gruff but heartfelt words, the patient leaving his Sickbay knowing someone _cared_ about them getting better. "Don't hear any complaints right now."

Chuckling, Bones spread his toes. "Better."

"Hmm, maybe you should have more of that bourbon, if it makes you relax like this." Bones looked up at the ceiling at those words and sighed, and for a millisecond Jim wondered if he'd gone too far with his teasing.

Then hazel eyes were back on Jim's face, and there was _understanding_ , something else Jim hadn't ever known. Bones knew what he was thinking, didn't condemn him for his worry, and maybe even acknowledged that Jim was right about this crutch of his. Jim tilted his head and wordlessly told him it wasn't an issue, just a concern.

A different kind of communication.

For a moment the whole mood of the room shifted to something more serious, only to be broken by Bones' slow drawl. "You know, if this whole captain of the flagship doesn't work out, you've got a another career ahead of you here. God damn talent you got there."

This made Jim laugh, loud. "You'll give me a good recommendation?" he asked, pressing his knuckles into the arch of Bones' foot.

"Glowing," Bones snorted then groaned, leaning back and closing his eyes. Jim took that as a good sign, and kept up the movements, using both hands to press his thumbs into the ball of Bones' right foot before switching his attention over to the left, mirroring his movements.

Finally he pulled at the toes, listening for the little pop from each one and Bones' subsequent grunt. Somewhere inside Jim's head he wondered at who he'd become, this homebody who wanted to spend his free time with the CMO's feet in his lap, tugging at his long toes until they cracked. Why Leonard McCoy? Why this man?

And why these toes?

It didn't take a genius to answer that last part. Yeah, sometimes they were cold little ice cubes, pressed up against Jim's warm legs when they shared a bed. But at other times these toes dug into his mattress when Bones covered Jim with his body, providing traction as Bones thrust deep into him. Then they curled up tight when Bones came with that loud groan that sounded like music to Jim.

Remembering that sound made Jim flush a little, like a damn kid. Only Bones made him act like this, turning pink at the memories of all they'd done together. Jim hadn't ever been embarrassed by his sexual prowess, didn't hide who he was, what he did, what he liked. Was a part of him and everyone knew it.

But what he had with Bones was private, quiet and Jim liked that. Not because he was embarrassed; might have been the opposite, that he didn't want to share this bit of his life, strangely warm and sweet, with anyone else.

Which begged the question again - why this man? Clearly not his type - not that Jim Kirk had a type, but if he did, it should have been someone fun, easy-going. Playful.

No way he'd have pegged this sarcastic, alcoholic physician as the one person he wanted to spend his nights curled up with. Bones had broken down each of Jim's carefully constructed walls without even trying, and each of Jim's rules for keeping people at a distance vanished.

And here he was, with no plans or desire to go anywhere else. Jim had never been like this with anyone, and probably wouldn't ever be again, if things went bad between them. "Hey Bones?"

One eye cracked open, and Jim wondered if the other man hadn't drifted off during his reverie. "Yeah?"

"Why do we work?"

For a moment Jim thought Bones didn't understand his question, but then the doctor let out a small breath. "Haven't figured that out yet." Then he shifted, eyes looking back at him with a hint of worry before he reached down and caught Jim's hands. "Everything okay with you?" Something else new, someone who cared about _him._

 _Better than okay._ "I'm good," Jim told him, a wide grin cracking on his face as Bones' hands began to slide up his torso. Then it was all just moans and whispers and _yes_ and _more_ and _harder_ and soon Jim stopped worrying about _why_ it worked and just enjoyed the fact that it did.


End file.
